the androgynous keeper of plushfrogs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crossfortune) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2015-06-17 02:51 am
crossfortune) wrote in rainbowfic2015-06-17 02:51 am
Entry tags:
plant stars in the ground
Name: Mischa
Story: as if words could be undone
Colors: octarine (He'd never realized that, deep down inside, what he really wanted to do was make things go splat.), spark (they say you were something in those formative years), dry well (verdigris)
Supplies and Styles: canvas
Word Count: 546
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: N/A
Summary: Mikha attempts to bond with her newest sibling. By teaching him how she fights.
note: I think this needs the color tag for spark
Mikha practices her knifework, daily: she’s a lifetime away from Sevda, a lifetime away from the harbor, but her tongue cannot be the only thing sharp about her. Parry, slash, roll, up on her feet again: at least dying hadn’t dulled her reflexes. If anything, she was stronger and faster than she’d been in life, Messenger and all. Let Iulia worry about the theology and the theory: Mikha just cares what she can do with it, even if she still thinks it’s absurd that apparently she ended up with the best healing powers among them.
(Sorin, so gravely that he can only be laughing at her, pronounces it a sign: she rolls her eyes and ignores him).
“You don’t need to hide if you want to watch,” she calls out, sarcastically, to the little shadow she seems to have picked up. He’s good at hiding, at silence and stillness, almost like he’d been born to it, but a lifetime of being a thief has taught her how to pick out when someone is watching her and where they were hiding.
Her youngest sibling steps out after a moment, and Mikha frowns, considering. He’s at least interested in watching, which is a good first step. Rahela prefers to fight unarmed or with a bow and Iulia with staves, while Sorin can’t use weapons at all. And really, Sorin is enough: this boy needs to learn how to fight, and none of them are sure whether he’d already been trained or what his skillset is. Or even what his powers are, other than what's common to all of them.
Never too soon to learn.
“Do you want to learn?” she asks, and waits: the boy nods, after a few moments, as if he wasn’t used to someone asking him a direct question. Obviously he’d grown up with much ‘children must be seen, not heard’, as far as she was concerned: her lessons had been more ‘children must not be heard or seen’, which was at least much more practical.
“Come here, then.” Mikha says, beckoning to him. “Brother.” she adds almost as an afterthought, not because he is an afterthought, but because she still has no idea what to call him and Zora meant it when she’d said that ‘hey you’ was unacceptable. He still doesn’t have a name, and who knows how long it’ll be before he decides on one. Hopefully not as long as Sorin, who had taken nearly half a decade to decide on his name.
“...Mira,” he says, so quietly that she almost doesn’t hear him, and it’s the first she’s heard him speak since she got here. So he’s finally decided on a name, then? Good. It’s even better, as far as she’s concerned, that the first thing he’d decided to say was his name rather than some meaningless little courtesy. Like the first thing Iulia had decided to ever say. She loves her sister, really she does, but she just can’t understand her sometimes.
Mikha holds out the hilt of one of her daggers to him - one now, two later - and watches as he takes it. “That’s my best dagger, Mira.” she says, because it is, and she doesn’t let just anyone touch her knives, much less use one. “Don’t lose it.”
Story: as if words could be undone
Colors: octarine (He'd never realized that, deep down inside, what he really wanted to do was make things go splat.), spark (they say you were something in those formative years), dry well (verdigris)
Supplies and Styles: canvas
Word Count: 546
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: N/A
Summary: Mikha attempts to bond with her newest sibling. By teaching him how she fights.
note: I think this needs the color tag for spark
Mikha practices her knifework, daily: she’s a lifetime away from Sevda, a lifetime away from the harbor, but her tongue cannot be the only thing sharp about her. Parry, slash, roll, up on her feet again: at least dying hadn’t dulled her reflexes. If anything, she was stronger and faster than she’d been in life, Messenger and all. Let Iulia worry about the theology and the theory: Mikha just cares what she can do with it, even if she still thinks it’s absurd that apparently she ended up with the best healing powers among them.
(Sorin, so gravely that he can only be laughing at her, pronounces it a sign: she rolls her eyes and ignores him).
“You don’t need to hide if you want to watch,” she calls out, sarcastically, to the little shadow she seems to have picked up. He’s good at hiding, at silence and stillness, almost like he’d been born to it, but a lifetime of being a thief has taught her how to pick out when someone is watching her and where they were hiding.
Her youngest sibling steps out after a moment, and Mikha frowns, considering. He’s at least interested in watching, which is a good first step. Rahela prefers to fight unarmed or with a bow and Iulia with staves, while Sorin can’t use weapons at all. And really, Sorin is enough: this boy needs to learn how to fight, and none of them are sure whether he’d already been trained or what his skillset is. Or even what his powers are, other than what's common to all of them.
Never too soon to learn.
“Do you want to learn?” she asks, and waits: the boy nods, after a few moments, as if he wasn’t used to someone asking him a direct question. Obviously he’d grown up with much ‘children must be seen, not heard’, as far as she was concerned: her lessons had been more ‘children must not be heard or seen’, which was at least much more practical.
“Come here, then.” Mikha says, beckoning to him. “Brother.” she adds almost as an afterthought, not because he is an afterthought, but because she still has no idea what to call him and Zora meant it when she’d said that ‘hey you’ was unacceptable. He still doesn’t have a name, and who knows how long it’ll be before he decides on one. Hopefully not as long as Sorin, who had taken nearly half a decade to decide on his name.
“...Mira,” he says, so quietly that she almost doesn’t hear him, and it’s the first she’s heard him speak since she got here. So he’s finally decided on a name, then? Good. It’s even better, as far as she’s concerned, that the first thing he’d decided to say was his name rather than some meaningless little courtesy. Like the first thing Iulia had decided to ever say. She loves her sister, really she does, but she just can’t understand her sometimes.
Mikha holds out the hilt of one of her daggers to him - one now, two later - and watches as he takes it. “That’s my best dagger, Mira.” she says, because it is, and she doesn’t let just anyone touch her knives, much less use one. “Don’t lose it.”
no subject
I liked reading this, especially having seen so much of their relationship later.
no subject
Their relationship is a fun one to write, especially as it evolves.
no subject
I REALLY like this line.
no subject
no subject
no subject
It's the most genuinely heartwarming thing she could do, I think. Much more than simple words.
no subject
no subject
I enjoyed writing the beginning of their relationship, since I'd already explored the later part of it.